


bones (fingertips are holding on)

by ricciardos



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: (i think), Angst, Experimental Style, M/M, i wanted to try something new, pairing revealed at the end! but feel free to make guesses along the way, this is another metaphorical exploration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:42:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27192584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricciardos/pseuds/ricciardos
Summary: There is a rope between us.A single, solitary rope that divides the space into left and right, present and future, me and you.It is simple,we reason. Or at least, I reason.(All I need to do is pull you to me.)
Relationships: pairing to be revealed - Relationship
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30





	bones (fingertips are holding on)

We are in a barren wasteland. The clouds are rolling and thunder is calling, winds are howling and waters are roaring. 

There is a rope between us. 

A single, solitary rope that divides the space into left and right, present and future, me and you. 

_It is simple,_ we reason. Or at least, I reason. 

(All I need to do is pull you to me.) 

-

There is a burning desire to show you that I am better. That I will be the one to deliver the final tug that sends you crawling to me. Where I send you flying and stumbling across the lines, and into my arms. 

(Is that not what you want? To be with me?) 

There is a burning desire to hurt. This burning wasteland is a product of our worst intentions against each other, for each other. I stand in front of you, scars on my arm and shredded armour. 

(Was it not you that did this to me? Cut me open and leave me to bleed?) 

-

I pick up the rope. 

You do the same. 

There is a haunted determination set in your eyes, and I know you well enough to know that you are thinking the same. 

It’s white knuckles against the red sky and soil, tears reflecting bitterness in the soul, tired feet digging deeper into the ground-

As we pull away from each other, acting as if this pull will bring each other closer. 

-

I’ve lost track of how much time has passed as my shoulders ache under the weight. My feet are shaking, trembling and struggling to hold my ground. 

(Are you any better?) 

I look over at you, where your eyes still burn bright. Your face is contorted and contracted in pain, sweat running down the side of your face and your eyebrows. 

(I forget that you too, have the same scars under your armour. The breastplate is marked with remnants of the last time, scratches that will never go away and blemishes never cleaned.)

(To hate is to hurt in the name of love.)

The blisters on my palm burn.

But I hold on. 

I hold on, because I am scared that when I let go, you will too. 

You will let go, the rope will fall between us again, cutting up the land in two. 

You will walk away, and leave me, leave me, leave me. 

-

This is a barren wasteland. The clouds are rolling and thunder is calling, winds are howling and waters are roaring. 

But it is also the story of us. 

Lewis watches as the blonde man’s knees sink and hit the ground first. His knees fold and his upper body crumples to the side, collapsing onto the ground and kicking up the red dust around him. 

(It is strange, however.) 

(That even when he falls, even when he is falling-) 

(Nico’s grip on the rope never ever loosens.)

-  
A storm is coming. Lewis knows that. 

He looks up to the sky, the rain already falling. The air tastes sour, acidic -- almost like a lemon gone bad, kept in the open for too long. It is not long before the ground around him washes away, and he too will be washed away-

He peels his jacket off, and gently covers Nico’s shoulders with it. 

His bloody, blistered fingers are outstretched, and they run through Nico’s hair almost in a trancelike state. Blood mixes with blonde, and his fingertips leave traces of crimson behind. 

The rain will wash it off, he thinks. 

He stays by Nico’s side, unwavering until the rain washes over them. 

Even in this wasteland, he is granted one more chance to be, to watch as the clouds roll from a distance, as the acid rain plummets nearer. 

(To love is to heal in the shadow of hate.)

-

**Author's Note:**

> NOT ME WRITING THIS DURING THE DAMN PORTUGAL GP 
> 
> (let me know if this was too confusing or not it's just an experimental fic!) 
> 
> kudos and comments always appreciated! find me on tumblr @albon-and-gang


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